


This Story is About You

by Samandrielle



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samandrielle/pseuds/Samandrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Episode 13: A Story About You</p>
<p>"You wake up one morning, gaze into the mirror, and realize that you have become Steve Carlsberg."</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Story is About You

You wake up one morning, gaze into the mirror, and realize that you have become Steve Carlsberg.

“How is this possible?” you ask yourself, staring despondently into the eyes of Night Vale’s most hated citizen. “Did I forget to eat my municipally mandated slice at Big Rico’s this week?”

After impotently shaking your fists at the ebony void above you, and the pitiless, apathetic gods who reside therein for a solid thirty minutes, inspiration strikes you (not literally, that was last week). Who is the only other person in town to spontaneously change appearance so drastically? The Apache Tracker, of course! You know… that white man who wore a huge and cartoonishly inaccurate, horribly offensive Native American headdress, and later reappeared as an actual Native American who for some reason can only speak in Russian? 

You immediately run to your car and speed over to the Home Depot (the nice one without the bleeding walls) faster than a group of schoolchildren fleeing from the dog park—which definitely DOES NOT EXIST. You spot the Apache Tracker (still wearing the huge and cartoonishly inaccurate, horribly offensive Native American headdress, what a jerk!). He is standing alone, apparently perusing the selection of potted, screaming geraniums. 

You rush forward to grab his arm and begin frantically explaining the situation. When his face registers only confusion, you realize that the sounds coming out of your face mouth are, in fact, low guttural moans and not anything resembling human speech patterns. When he begins to speak, you realize that this has all been a colossal waste of time, seeing as the Apache Tracker only speaks Russian, and the only foreign languages you speak with any proficiency are Weird Spanish and Modified Sumerian. 

When you realize that your plan has all been for naught, you are filled with a great existential ennui, similar to what you felt at last month’s dreadfully long and boring PTA meeting. You mindlessly stare at the world around you, knowing that you and your petty mortal concerns are nothing but entertainment for the unknowable horrors that will one day vaporize you and everyone you’ve ever cared about. 

Suddenly, out of the corner of your eyes you spot a gleaming cascade of smooth chestnut locks with a dignified, if premature, touch of gray at the temples. It’s Mr. the Scientist himself! Fortune has dropped Carlos, He of The Perfect Hair, directly into your lap (not literally, that would be hard to explain to Cecil). You know that if anyone can Un-Carlsberg you, then it is this perfect man. You begin to excitedly make your way towards Carlos, who is single-mindedly focusing on the Home Depot’s selection of tool boxes (“Hamilton Tool Boxes: Our black hole technology is guaranteed to store all of your tools within its infinitely dense gaping black maw!”). 

Without any warning, a pair of eyes (along with the rest of the man’s body) jumps out towards you from a display model of a finely crafted porcelain toilet. This balaclava-wearing, robed figure tackles you to the ground and immediately cuffs your wrists and shrouds your hideous Carlsbergian face with an opaque black hood. As Carlos looks on with mild curiosity, a team of the Sheriff’s Secret Police drag you out to their unmarked black van. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been driving; all you know is that with the Sheriff’s Secret Police, the destination is never a happy one. The only thing keeping you calm is the muffled, melodious words of one Cecil Baldwin, the voice of Night Vale, that cycle through the dark, quiet interior of the car. An indeterminable number of seconds later, you feel the van coast to a smooth stop. One member of the Secret Police roughly pulls the hood off your disoriented, blinking face. You know this place. You’ve seen it in the communal nightmares that everyone in Night Vale wakes up screaming from every other cancelled Wednesday. It is the dreaded abandoned mine shaft (now with HBO on demand!). 

As the Secret Police drag you towards your premature and undoubtedly horrifying end, you can still hear Cecil’s smooth voice over the airwaves, cursing Steve Carlsberg (he is just the worst!) for his unprovoked and sacrilegious attempt on perfect Carlos’ life. You hear, and you smile.

The End


End file.
